


Second Guessing

by HowToKillAVampire



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Childhood Friends, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Imaginary Friends, M/M, Slow Burn, Young Sam Winchester, it's not technically lying, little sammy, lucifer pretends to be sam's imaginary friend, soft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-29
Updated: 2018-12-29
Packaged: 2019-09-29 19:35:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17209664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HowToKillAVampire/pseuds/HowToKillAVampire
Summary: In the long run, Sam Winchester really should have seen this coming.





	Second Guessing

**Author's Note:**

> So I am currently reworking the plot of this entire fic.  
> It's probably going to end up near twenty chapters, and will take quite a while to write.  
> Guess I'm in it for the long haul!
> 
> I'm rewriting this first chapter to go with the plot better, and will be adding an epilogue before it.   
> The 'first chapter' will be uploaded as a second chapter, so it should send notifications to everyone subscribed!
> 
> I'm super excited for the new version of this fic, and I can't wait to share it with the world.  
> Stay tuned  
> or don't  
> who cares
> 
>  

The tiny first grade classroom in Nowhere, North Dakota, was empty for all but Sammy, his teacher, and God, who watched the other two from a safe distance. The teacher sat a hand on Sammy’s shoulder patiently, as if to offer some form of comfort.

“Why don’t you go play outside with the other kids?”

The touch seemed to make Sammy a little uncomfortable, and he squirmed in his seat for a moment. Unsettled, Sammy looked down at his scribble-covered desk and huffed out a sigh.

“I don’t wanna.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t like playing with them,” he mumbled, picking at a crack in the desk. The teacher offered an apologetic smile that went unnoticed. Sammy looked up as the ceiling fan creaked above them, spinning around and around in a slow rotation.

“It’s okay to play by yourself Sammy, sometimes it’s more fun anyways,” she replied. Sammy knew she was just trying to make him feel better, and he appreciated it, really, he just wasn’t up for it today. The teacher gently nudged him to stand up, and he complied reluctantly.

God watched as Sammy made his way to the door, and noticed how he hesitated in the doorway. Sammy stood and watched the other kids for a moment, running around and having a grand time without him. It was Sammy’s seventh birthday, and he really doubted anyone was going to wish him a happy one.

God didn’t miss the way Sammy’s heart sank as he stepped out of the classroom, eyes on the ground, determined to find the tallest tree and climb as high as he could. After all, Sammy didn’t need friends to climb trees.

 

 

Swings creaked under the weight of the children at play, their laughter echoing in Sammy’s ears. The breeze made the leaves tickle against Sammy’s kneecaps where he sat perched in the tree. He smiled down at his hands, soft pads against the crackling bark. God watched closely as Sammy took a deep breath and prepared to hop down. The drop was a perilous distance, and God knew that it was going to hurt.

As he slipped off the branch and tumbled to the ground, God heard the sharp crack and recoiled before tears even welled up in Sammy’s eyes. Sammy’s fumbling fingers grasped tightly at his ankle as a sob worked its way up in his throat. The laughter around him didn’t even pause; it seemed no one had noticed the accident that had just occurred. The wind nudged at Sammy, as if offering a comforting push as tears tracked down his cheeks. God felt the urge to reach out and offer him a hand, but he knew better than to meddle in the lives of helpless humans who still didn’t know their place in the world.

Sammy scrubbed at his cheeks with the back of his hands and huffed out a breath. He placed his hands firmly on the ground and lifted himself up into a somewhat standing position. Wobbly on his one good foot, Sammy held his breath for a moment and took a step towards the nearest recess teacher. He had to bite his lip and blink back tears as his weight shifted to his injured ankle, and he shuffled along with as much dignity as he could muster.

A few yards away, his teacher finally seemed to take notice of the limping child and rushed to his side. She quickly asked him what was wrong, and what had happened, and hurried him to the nurse. God watched Sammy limp away with the teacher at his side until they disappeared from sight. He turned back to watch the other children, chasing each other around the playground, and let out a long sigh. Giggles floated up into the air from the children playing tag and tossing around a bouncy ball, and it might’ve made God smile if he didn’t feel a horrible sense of dread clawing its way into his chest.

 

 

Precariously teetering on his crutches, Sammy made his way out of the school building as the final bell rang. He seemed to be holding his breath, nerves making him even more tense with each careful step. As the glossy black paint of the Impala came into view, Sammy felt his heart catch in his throat. His eyes drifted down to the rough pavement as he made his way to the car. His ankle started throbbing viciously as he grew closer and closer, until he was finally close enough to reach for the handle of the back door. The metal felt cold in his palm, and his tongue felt too big in his mouth as he pulled open the door.

There was a moment of silence, with Dean already in the passenger seat and John at the wheel, hands resting too lightly on the leather finish. Sammy shimmied his crutches into the backseat and sat with them awkwardly in his lap. It seemed that everyone was finally shocked back to reality when he slammed his door shut.

“What happened?” John asked, tone more accusatory than concerned.

“I fell,” Sammy replied, voice hushed and small. He felt like the car was too big and suffocating him at the same time.

“You fell?”

“I sprained my ankle.”

“Sammy,” John’s eyes flicked up to the rearview mirror for a moment, “you know we can’t afford to take you to the doctor’s.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” he said, looking down at his hands lying still in his lap. He felt warmth creeping up his cheeks and pricking at the corners of his eyes as Dean let out a sharp breath.

“You gotta be more careful,” Dean started, “We really can’t have you slowing us down.”

“I know, I’m sorry.”

“Really Sammy, what were you thinking?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Sammy,” John let out an exasperated breath. He was pinching the bridge of his nose, his other hand on the wheel. “Try not to hurt yourself next time, alright?”

Sammy nodded, tears threatening to spill. He bowed his head as he felt the car shift into drive. Squeezing his eyes shut, he sucked in a sharp breath in an attempt to prevent the sobs from working their way out of his chest.

At least it was Friday, and Sammy didn’t have to deal with his classmates or school for at least two more days. Everyone always made a big deal when anyone got hurt.

With a puzzled expression, God watched as the Winchesters pulled out of the school parking lot . Neither of them had asked Sammy if he was okay, and it had become clear that no one would. Barely seven years old, Sammy sat in the backseat of his father’s car, feeling a sense of dread and loneliness curl into a cruel vise around his stomach. This was too much too bear- too painful to watch. God had seen enough.

 

 

\-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

 

 

The constant lick of the flames against the edge of the cage was enough to convince Lucifer to stay seated in the middle. He sat in his favored position, knees pulled his chest, eyes softly shut, curled in the center of the great iron entrapment. Hours bled into days, and days into weeks, but Lucifer was always shit at keeping time. Some days, the weight of the shackles on his wrists was enough to remind him where he was. Other days, his body felt as light as a feather, left in limbo, just floating in complete darkness, absolute solitude.

There was a small shift, a hesitant pause in the steady crackle of hellfire, and that was how Lucifer knew God had come down to visit him.

He felt a sick grin spread across his face, but it truly looked more like a grimace. Countless insults and puns cloaked in twisted irony flooded his mind, and he took a moment to choose an appropriate conversation starter- after all, it isn’t every day Father comes to visit. It seemed, however, that God had a reason to be there, and for whatever reason, he didn’t feel like beating around the flaming bush today.

“Would you like to leave hell?”

Every word that had been crawling up from the back of Lucifer’s throat died where it was. For once his wicked tongue was failing him, and he’d be damned if he made a fool of himself in front of his father today. Unfortunately, God’s tone gave nothing away, leaving Lucifer with the disadvantage.

After a moment, he scoffed, knowing this must be some sort of trick question- that even God wasn’t utterly senseless enough to ask him something like this.

“Would you like to leave, Lucifer?” he asked again, after a few minutes of silence. Finally, Lucifer opened his eyes and sat up fully, rolling his tongue around in his suddenly parched mouth. His throat felt too sore, his voice scratchy and almost pitiful. He cursed himself internally for letting his emotions get the better of him.

“Why do you ask?”

“Do you want to get out?”

“Is this some kind of trick question?”

“No.”

“How do I know you’re not lying?”

“I’m God. I would never-”

“Okay, that right there, that’s a lie,” Lucifer cut him off, letting out a small laugh. He ran his hand through his hair and felt a shiver run down his spine. For a place that was constantly on fire, Hell was cold as fuck.

“Just answer my question,” he said in an exasperated tone. Lucifer could practically hear God rolling his eyes. The thought tugged a weak smile onto Lucifer’s face. Afterall, patronizing his father was one of his favourite pastimes, and old habits die hard.

“Of course I want to leave. Do you think I like it here?”

“Would you like to go to the human world?”

“Why the fuck-”

“Would you?” God persisted, tone. Lucifer would bet that his eyebrows were raised. He hesitated for a moment, considering this proposal. Was it a proposal? Or just a simple curiosity? Did it really matter?

“Yes.”

“Okay.”

“Okay? Okay?” Lucifer repeated incredulously. “That’s it? What, are you actually going to let me leave to see the humans? After all I’ve done?”

“Yes.”

“Me? Lucifer?” he gestured to himself, eyes wide. “Did you forget that I tried to fuck over all of humanity, because I hated them?” He knew he was grasping frantically at straws, pulling any excuse. He felt his pulse quicken as he searched for any counter argument, but he didn’t know why he was so hellbent on being opposed to this.

“I didn’t forget. I don’t forget anything.”

“Then why the fuck would you let me go back up there?” He was on his feet now, hands wrapped around the bars despite the heat. The flames were lapping at his fingertips, searing everywhere they touched. He felt breathless, worked up, and in spite everything he felt hopeful. His heart was racing for the first time in forever, and, fuck, he didn’t want it to stop now.

“I will let you up there,” God said slowly. He paused for a moment, taking a breath as if considering how to word his next sentence. “But your soul will still be tethered to the cage. You can still return to the pit if I deem it so or if you choose to. I-”

“But why? Why are you letting me go?”

“I’m not letting you go, I’m-”

“Stop dodging my fucking question,” he snapped. He heard God let out a sigh, and practically felt the eye-roll this time.

“I will let you go to the human world to meet Samuel Winchester.” God’s words were final, and Lucifer felt them seize his chest. For a moment, he felt a million thoughts race through his mind while it went blank simultaneously. His wit had finally failed him.

“Sam is alive? He’s finally alive?”

“He just turned seven,” he replied softly.

“He’s been alive for seven years? And you’re telling me this now?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s having a pretty rough time, and I want you to meet him.”

“You want me to meet him? My vessel?”

“Yes.”

“There’s got to be a fucking catch.”

“Sam is the only one who would be allowed to see you.”

“There it is,” he chuckled, leaning back on his heels. “And let me guess, I can’t touch him- oh no, I can’t even tell him my name.”

“You can. You can tell him who you are, and you can touch him. Although he might not perceive your touch as he is only a child.”

“Hold on: you’re giving me completely free range with this kid?”

“Like I said, I can yank you back in the cage at any time.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m on a pretty short leash, I get it,” he mumbled, looking at where his hands rested loosely on the bars. He let his hands drop to his sides and looked up at the iron ceiling. He was going to meet his vessel. His true vessel. He wasn’t sure he could process any of the emotions he was feeling right now even if he knew what all of them were.

“You know,” God began, mulling over his words carefully, “I’ve always wondered why you picture the cage as an actual cage.” A moment of silence stretched out between them before he continued softly, “You know you could make it look like anything you would like.”

“I know,” he admitted, closing his eyes. He took a deep breath and let the firewood scent of Hell rest in the back of his throat. “I just like to remind myself where I am.” Silence settled in around him, drowning out the sound of the flames. He felt a presence grow near, but kept his eyes closed.

“When would you like to leave?” God’s voice was closer now, much closer. Lucifer felt tempted to open his eyes, but he knew he’d hate himself for giving in.

“Oh I don’t know,” he said, his voice light and conversational in a vain attempt to hide his emotions. God could see right through him and he knew it, but he liked to pretend he could still hold onto his pride.

“Today is his birthday, by the way.” God’s voice was gentle, soft, and Lucifer felt something sharp pierce his heart. Damn his pride to hell.

“Well, they say there’s no time quite like the present.”

 

 

\-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

 

 

Sammy found himself sitting on the edge of an unmade bed, alone in a dingy motel room, again. After John had dropped them off, he went out to go follow a lead, and left Dean and Sammy by themselves. That wouldn’t have been all that bad if Dean had actually stayed with Sammy, but no, Dean had snuck out to go to the arcade not even an hour after their dad had backed out of the parking lot. Sammy didn’t mind that Dean wanted to go to the arcade, he just minded that Dean wanted to go to the arcade without him. As Sammy kicked one of his feet out in front of him, he realized thinking about Dean made his stomach twist up into knots. Needless to say, this was Sammy’s worst birthday to date.

It wasn’t like Sammy wanted to do everything with Dean, he just didn’t want to do everything alone. Sitting by himself with his throbbing ankle and overactive imagination was never very fun. But when Sammy refused to tell Dean how he hurt his ankle, Dean had gotten mildly annoyed and left.

Keeping secrets was something Sammy wasn’t very good at. For most seven year olds, secret keeping was no easy task, but when you had an older brother like Dean, it was ten thousand times harder. Somehow, Dean managed to ignore Sammy completely and not let him have anything to himself at the same time. Sammy shook his head, trying to dislodge all of the unpleasant thoughts he had running through his mind. He didn’t want to think about Dean right now, even if he was lonely.

Sammy didn’t miss Dean. He certainly didn’t miss his father either. All John ever did was yell at him and make him upset for no reason. Sure, Sammy felt a wave of loneliness creep up on him as he sat alone on the grimey motel mattress, but it was nothing compared to the flood that surrounded him when Dean and his dad were there. At least when Sammy was alone he could play pretend without Dean making fun of him. Playing pretend helped. It made his chest hurt a little bit less, because being alone in a shabby motel room left him with something sick and hollow in his heart that little Sammy wouldn’t have a name for until he was a bit older. So naturally, like any small child all alone with no friends and a shitty home life, Sammy made up an imaginary friend.

As he squeezed his eyes shut and tried to picture a friend as hard as he could, all he could see was Dean. He didn’t want to think about Dean- that jerk who never wanted to play games with him, and always made fun of him for crying during sad movies. He tried to imagine someone who would go on adventures with him everyday, and sit at the motel and watch TV with him when Dean decided he was too boring and ditched him. He shook his head in frustration, feeling heat rise in his cheeks. Sammy wanted a friend, someone he could talk to, someone who could make Sammy smile like Dean used to. Now, when Dean’s around, he spends all of his time with his headphones in and his walkman  blaring the same five songs on repeat.

He used to think Dean was the best. Every time a mean kid at school pushed Sammy down or started a fight, Dean would always take him out to get ice cream to cheer him up. He used to let Sammy pick the shows they watched and which side of the bed he wanted to sleep on. Now Dean makes him sleep on the floor and never gives Sammy the remote. Dean doesn’t ask him how his day at school was, and he doesn’t blink an eye at the bruises and cuts Sammy comes home with, and he hadn’t in a while. Dean didn’t care as much about Sammy as he used to, not unless they were in the middle of a hunt. Then, and only then, Dean finally remembered his little brother Sammy- but as soon as the hunt is over, Dean disappears. Dean doesn’t care about Sammy anymore, not when he doesn’t have to. He didn’t even remember Sammy’s birthday.

Sammy didn’t realize he was crying until he felt someone wipe away a tear. Startled, he blinked open his eyes and almost fell backwards. Crouched on the floor in front of him was a boy, only a year or two older than Sammy, with a gentle smile on his face and kind, blue eyes blinking up at him. His blond hair fell in front of his face when he brought his hand back up to Sammy’s cheek and wiped away another tear.

“Hey, why are you crying, Sammy?” he asked, furrowing his eyebrows in concern. Sammy blinked a few times, trying to convince himself he wasn’t hallucinating. The other boy let a small pout form on his lips. “Hey now, that hurts Sam. I’m not a hallucination,” he laughed lightly, bringing his hand down to rest on the knee of Sammy’s un-injured leg.

“Wh-who are you?” Sammy asked, his voice shaking.

“I’m…” he faltered for a moment, as if carefully considering his next words before continuing, “I’m Lucy.” The other boy stood up and offered his had to Sammy, smiling warmly. For a moment, Sammy stared at the hand like it was some sort of alien appendage. Lucy felt his heart hammering in his chest and for a moment, he thought Sammy was going to leave him hanging.

“But Lucy’s a girl’s name,” Sammy accused, narrowing his eyes. The other boy chuckled and his shoulders relaxed a bit.

“So?”

Sammy considered this for a moment, before realizing it really didn’t matter what his name was. He took Lucy’s hand in his and shook it firmly. His hand felt solid and real inside of Sammy’s, and Sammy figured he would recognize a monster or a spirit if he saw one. Or felt one.

“I’m Sammy,” he replied, feeling an odd sensation in his stomach. “But… but you already know that, don’t you?”

“It seems that I do,” Lucy said softly, “But it’s nice to meet you anyways.” His voice was smooth and sincere, harboring nothing threatening as far as Sammy could tell.

“Because,” Sammy continued, “because you’re my imaginary friend, aren’t you?” His voice wavered as he spoke, his hopefulness not well hidden. Sammy wanted a friend, imaginary or not, and he was willing to take what he was given. Beggars can’t be choosers, Dean’s voice echoed in his ears. Sammy didn’t really want to think about Dean right now, who was probably at some arcade with grease covered fingers, laughing as he played Pac-Man, so Sammy thought about the boy in front of him instead. Lucy didn’t seem all that bad, and an imaginary friend was still better than no friend, right?

“I am if you want me to be,” Lucy replied, squeezing Sammy’s hand lightly and making warmth spread throughout his chest. Sammy nodded quickly, and then felt his cheeks grow warm at his hasty reply. He always embarrassed himself in front of new people, and it seemed that Lucy was no exception. Sheepishly, he looked down at his lap where his other hand lay curled into a light fist and huffed out a breath, frustrated with himself. He didn’t know how to make real friends, let alone imaginary friends. This was going to be harder than he thought.

“Hey,” Lucy brought his other hand up and set it on Sammy’s shoulder, the soothing warmth offering him some semblance of comfort, “We’re already friends Sammy. You don’t need to worry about that.”

Sammy looked up and was met with those honest blue eyes again. He thought they looked kind of like the summer sky. Lucy smiled, giving his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. Sammy nodded, glancing around to make sure no one saw the tears welling up in his eyes, before he realized he was still alone in the musty motel room his father had left him in.

“You’re not alone, Sammy, I’m right here,” Lucy said softly. His tone was light and laced with concern. He took a step closer and let go of Sammy’s hand. Sammy felt his chest swelling up and he looked away, at the dim lamp sitting on the dresser next to the bed.

“I know, I just,” he felt his throat close up when he tried to talk, sobs working their way up through his body.

“Shhh, shhh, it’s okay.”

Sammy blinked back the tears forming at the edges of his eyes, and tried to calm his breathing. He turned back to face the other boy and felt the bed fall out from under him when he saw how openly concerned he was for Sammy.

“Come here,” he whispered, gently pulling Sammy into a hug. With his arms wrapped tightly around Sammy, his new friend felt anything but imaginary. Sammy was just glad to have someone there with him, someone there for him.

“Well that’s what friends are for,” Lucy mumbled, smiling as he held Sammy close. Sammy tried to smile too, but he only made himself cry more, burying his face in the blond boy’s shoulder. He can’t remember the last time he voluntarily cried in front of someone else.

He thinks it might’ve been a year ago, after school one day when Dean had sat him down and asked him what was wrong. A horrible, mean kid had pushed Sammy down on the playground and made him scrape both knees up, and they were bloody, bruised messes. Dean had put band-aids on both knees and smiled when Sammy said thanks through his tears. But that was so long ago, and so much had changed since then. Dean wasn’t there to help him up when he fell down, not anymore.

“You don’t need Dean anymore, Sammy,” Lucy whispered, voice lighter than a feather and more gentle than a lamb. Sammy felt his own words wobbling on his tongue, having trouble coming out between the sobs.

“I… I don’t?”

“Nope.”

“But why not?”

“Because you have me now,” Lucy said, the words settling a warmth in Sammy’s chest. He wasn’t going to lie and say he wouldn’t miss having Dean there for him, he would always dream of having the perfect big brother, but suddenly losing Dean as his ‘best friend’ didn’t seem so bad after all. If losing Dean meant gaining Lucy, then Sammy was happy to make the trade.

“Okay,” Sammy said simply, “I already like you more than Dean anyways.” He sniffled away the rest of his tears as Lucy held him close.

“Nice to know I won’t have any competition,” he joked, earning a small laugh from Sammy that made his heart soar.

The two boys settled into a comfortable silence, both relaxing into the other’s embrace for a few minutes. The warm glow of the lamp illuminated the side of Sammy’s face, casting an orange hue over his skin. He looked almost content, as if he was floating alone in the deep blue sea with nothing but the sunset and all the time in the world.

“Oh, and Sammy,” Lucy spoke suddenly, surprising the younger boy at how loud his voice sounded in the silence.

“Yeah?”

“Happy Birthday.”

 

 

\-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

 

 

Lucifer would be lying if he said that his first breath of fresh air didn’t bring him to tears. Feeling actual oxygen work its way through his lungs was wonderful privilege he had lost all rights to.

“Fuck,” he sighed, blinking his eyes rapidly. There were birds singing, and crickets chirping, and if Lucifer didn’t know any better he would’ve argued that this was heaven.

It seemed it was sometime in the afternoon, the sun a bit past its halfway point. The wind made the dust and gravel around his feet dance and twirl around his ankles, and his eyes followed the swirls as they blew by. There were small puddles on the ground from the light showers the night before, and it left the air feeling crisp and warm on his skin.

He was standing on the sidewalk outside of an extremely rundown motel, one where the neon vacancy sign flickered on and off as if the electricity was too weak to keep it lit up all day. Muffled conversations could be heard through the chipped doors, and Lucifer had no fucking clue where he was. He gazed down at one of the puddles, crouching beside it and hovering his hand just above the water. As he watched the water ripple slightly in the breeze, he realized he could make out his own reflection.

“You are a child,” God said in a tone that left no room for argument. Of course, Lucifer argued anyways.

“But, why?”

“Because to the human world, you are infinitely ignorant.”

“Well that’s a bit harsh.”

“But not untrue, and not unkind,” God reasoned. God was right. Lucifer huffed out a breath and stood up. Not that he had much height to stand up into, being barely four feet and all.

“So, what’s the big idea? D’you rent me a room? You really shouldn’t have.” he teased God.

“No,” came the simple reply.

“Well then, why am I here?”

“It’s like I said, I want you to meet Samuel Winchester. And in this form he will feel more comfortable talking to you. He’s only seven, after all.”

“And he is…?”

“Inside,” God said. Lucifer felt a light tug and involuntarily turned to face the window. Through the smudged glass he saw a small boy sitting on a motel bed, with one of his ankles in some sort of brace.

“So what am I supposed-” Lucifer turned on his heel, only to find God had vanished, “--to do,” he finished and let out a long sigh, closing his eyes. He didn’t particularly enjoy this situation, abandoned in the mortal world with no clear goal in sight.

Relenting, he turned back to the glass window pane to look at the little boy once more. He was hunched over, kicking out one foot in frustration. Something was troubling him, and it perplexed Lucifer as well. For a moment, the boy began to shake, and Lucifer felt panic course through his body. He was unsure of the events unfolding before him and he thought if something was happening to the young boy then surely God would blame him for it. Then, he looked closer, and his eyes grew wider as his mind reached a sudden realization.

He’s crying.

Lucifer felt his body kick into gear before his mind could catch up, and suddenly he was bent down on one knee in front of Samuel Winchester.  
Sammy, his mind supplied helpfully.

The little boy sat on the edge of the moldy mattress, on top of some flower-patterned, quilted comforter in a horrible shade of tan, with his thin arms wrapped around his body. His eyes were squeezed shut so tight Lucifer thought they’d never open again. Tears were trailing down his cheeks, leaving hot streaks behind.  
He supposed seeing a human in such a vulnerable state should have filled him with some sort of carnal emotion, as if he should seize them by the shoulders and devour them on the spot. Yet, for all of his anger and misery, Lucifer felt none of it in this moment. Instead, he felt his heart swell up with some sick, sweet emotion, that pulled heavily at his chest. He could hear the echoing thoughts inside of Sammy’s head, the resounding sounds of abandonment and loneliness, of feeling like the one person in the world who he could trust more than anyone had let him down in some unspoken and infinitely important way. He understood that feeling.

His hand found the young boy’s cheek, and he was wiping away a tear before he know what he was doing. As the young Winchester opened his eyes, he seized the moment.

“Hey, why are you crying Sammy?”

The little boy’s eyes flashed in a brief moment of panic, and Lucifer could practically feel his heartbeat quicken. Another tear escaped, and he wiped it away too, smiling up at Sammy. He couldn’t help it. He watched the gears in Sammy’s brain shift and spin, trying to work out what was happening, and whether or not he was hallucinating right now.

“Hey now, that hurts Sam. I’m not a hallucination,” he said softly, bringing his hand down to rest on Sammy’s knee. This seemed to shock the other boy, as he blinked back the remaining tears and gaped.

“Wh-who are you?” he asked, his voice shaking. He was hesitant, Lucifer could tell, but Sammy wanted to trust him. He was so open, so easy to read, and so trusting for a little boy whose trust had been violated too many times to count. He was watching Lucifer now, with his big brown eyes full of curiosity and hope, of all things.

“I’m,” he began, biting his tongue just before he said Lucifer. He felt something clench in his chest, long claws gripping his heart. He couldn’t tell Sammy, he couldn’t. He knew that if he told Sammy who he was, all chances of trust would fly out the window. But for the king of lies, telling Sammy Winchester anything but the truth seemed like the biggest sin of all. He knew he cold get Sammy to trust him, he was his second half, his soulmate for all intents and purposes. Lying to him was the most painful thing to ask of himself.

You’re not lying, you don’t have to lie, you can tell him a half truth, he argued with himself. But a half truth is also a half lie. He took a breath, deciding which path to take.

“I’m Lucy,” he offered, standing up and offering his hand to Sammy. His heart ached at the thought of misleading the other boy, but he knew deep down that Sammy would never take his hand if he knew he was the devil.

“But Lucy’s a girl’s name,” he replied, narrowing his eyes in mock suspicion.

“So?” he challenged, raising an eyebrow slightly. There was a moment of deliberation, where Lucifer could feel the conflicting feelings wrestle inside of Sammy’s mind, and for a moment he thought Sammy wouldn’t take his hand.

Then, he shrugged, and took Lucifer’s hand in his own, giving it a small squeeze. Lucifer couldn’t help the small smile that spread across his face.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Updated version coming this year, I promise.


End file.
